


Butter

by Bronte



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien Agreste Is Sunshine, Adrien Learns To Cook, Aged-Up Character(s), Banter, Christmas, Christmas Dinner, Christmas Fluff, Comfort Food, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, ML Secret Santa, MLSS2020, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:03:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28176609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bronte/pseuds/Bronte
Summary: It’s warm in their garden igloo, an Eden of good company and beating hearts cocooned against the December chill and the gently falling snow cascading from the heavens. Chat wishes he could spend the rest of his life like this, laughing and joking with Ladybug over a homemade Christmas dinner made just for the two of them.A Christmas Story.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 25
Kudos: 102





	Butter

**Author's Note:**

> I have been utterly enchanted by the spoiler images Zag keeps posting of Chat Noir and Ladybug's rooftop dinner date in the movie and I simply had to write about it for Christmas because it's so darn romantic! I've also been honing my food writing skills, which I hope you'll enjoy as well! This story is also part of the ML Secret Santa 2020 exchange and I was paired up with a Tumblr user named yuki-sukinomoto. I hope they like what I have put together for them.

Like many people around the world, Adrien has a special place in his heart for Disney films. He and his mother had enjoyed many a fireworks celebration at Disneyland Paris, not to mention the mini-vacation he'd taken with her at Disneyland Hong Kong while they were there for Father's flagship store opening. Even now, he regularly enjoys flipping through the archives of Disney+ just as frequently as he does his other streaming services; there's nothing like a rewatch of a favourite film to get his mind off the bigger shadows lording over his life.

He's halfway through his last year of lycée when it occurs to him that he hasn't watched _Ratatouille_ in ages. There are only a few animated films set in Paris that he can think of off the top of his head and he's always enjoyed the romance of _Un Monstre en Paris_ more than the trials and tribulations of a rodent gourmand. It warrants a look though, especially since he's got nothing better to do; the glacial December rain is no place for Paris’ favourite cat.

_“Anyone can cook, but only the fearless can be great.”_

Something about that statement resonates within him, like the missing piece of a puzzle finally slotting into place. Adrien gawks at the screen, then down at his fingers.

“I’m pretty much fearless,” he murmurs, the cogs of his brain suddenly propelling into motion. “And if that Linguini guy can learn how to cook, then so can I!”

~

That evening, Sous Chef Maurice humours the youngest Agreste when he strides into the kitchen and affably demands to be taught how to cook. The spritely blond’s attitude has always been world’s away from his boss’ brusque, frigid demeanor and Sous Chef Maurice welcomes the change of pace, if only to lighten up the evening as the snowy skies grow dim.

“So, where do we start?”

“With the basics, of course,” Sous Chef Maurice responds, tapping away at the mounted iPad on the wall nearest to the pass. “Watch this video and familiarize yourself with the classical knife cuts of French cuisine. Once you’re finished, bring three large carrots and two bulbs of fennel from the _garde manger_ to my station to practice.”

“Yes, Chef!”

And so, with all of the flagrant gusto of an Agreste on a mission, Adrien watches the videos and does exactly as he’s asked. Wielding the chef’s knife is a bit of a task but he manages not to amputate any fingers, much to Sous Chef Maurice’s relief. All in all, he ends up with a fairly decently sliced pile of carrot batonnets on one side of the cutting board and half a julienned fennel bulb on the other.

“That’s all? There are several other techniques you’ll be required to master if you want to learn to cook.” Sous Chef Maurice frowns beneath his wiry moustache. “Cut a medium and small dice from the batonnets. And as for the fennel, slice the rest of the bulb into wedges. Monsieur Agreste requested it braised this evening.”

Adrien’s tongue wriggles out between his lips as he hacks the carrots into even smaller pieces. “What’s braising?”

“A cooking technique,” Sous Chef Maurice replies, “One you’re about to learn in a moment. Now chop.”

“Yes, Chef!” Adrien flashes his million watt smile before diving head first back into the task that was given and quickly catches on. He’s no Guy Savoy, of course, but he manages well enough with the careful precision of a boy who secretly destroys things for a living. Once he’s finished, he watches as Sous Chef Maurice crafts the rest of the evening’s dinner beneath the copper hooded hearth, stirring and seasoning every dish. Spreads of freshly baked bread and _Saucisson Sec_ jostle for space on the platter, nestled in among wedges of _Crottin de Chavignol_ and small jars of stone fruit jam that remind him of summer. On the burner, Sous Chef Maurice reverently sautées tomatoes in a magnificent French oven until buttery tender.

“Why, exactly, have you decided to learn how to cook all of the sudden?” Sous Chef Maurice asks as he sprinkles a fragrant chiffonade of basil over the tomatoes. “Don’t you have enough on your plate, so to speak?”

Adrien shrugs. “I was watching a movie and realized that I don’t know how to cook anything.”

“And now you suddenly have the inspiration to become a chef?”

“Not exactly,” Adrien says, passing him the pepper mill. “Cooking is...daring. You have to be fearless to be a great chef!”

Sous Chef Maurice begins to chuckle. “You’re doing this to impress a girl, aren’t you?”

“I…” Adrien’s jaw practically drops to the floor. Why didn’t he think of that sooner? Ladybug wouldn’t be able to resist his Chat Noir charm if he could pull off the ultimate homemade dinner for Christmas! She’s always appreciated his do-it-yourself gifts over the ones he’s bought her over the years...he could ask about her favourite foods and create a holiday masterpiece for her to devour as the perfect Christmas present, just for the two of them! “Yes! How did you know?”

“I was a young man once too,” Sous Chef Maurice points out, shaking his head with mirth as he turns his attention back to the hearth. He pulls the olive oil braised fennel from the oven and slathers a huge spoonful of buttery fava bean purée onto the serving platter, smearing it across the china like a streak of bright green paint. Then, he artfully stacks the braised vegetables over the purée and drizzles the juices from the pan in haphazard circles from a height, dressing the dish like Father would a high fashion model. Adrien can hardly believe his eyes as Sous Chef Maurice sprinkles Maldon sea salt on top and places it onto the pass, ready for service. 

“Like modelling, cooking is an art. It requires patience and mastery,” Sous Chef Maurice explains, turning towards the youngest Agreste with a smile playing at the edge of his lips. “If you’re serious about learning how to cook, I suggest you start studying the books of Paul Bocuse.”

“Do you think Father will let me?”

“I heard you discussing your latest school project with Mme Sancoeur just yesterday in the dining room. Perhaps you can change the focus of your study to better suit your interests.”

The lightbulb above Adrien’s head suddenly flickers to life. “Yes! Thank you so much! You’re the best!”

As Adrien races from the kitchen to the dining room in a frenzy of inspiration, Sous Chef Maurice simply wipes down his knives and smiles.

~

Cooking, as it turns out, is easier said than done.

The first task on Adrien’s check list is to find out what Ladybug likes to eat. She doesn’t really know what to make of Chat Noir’s sudden barrage of questions about what her favourite meat is or what types of soft cheese she likes to spread on freshly baked baguettes. But she’s spent years by his side at this point — his chaotic behaviour always seems to stem from some haywire plan to prove his worth — so she goes along with it as he goes along with her crazy ideas; trust has always been integral between the two of them.

The second task is to watch as many cooking TV shows as he possibly can. Adrien stays up into the wee hours of the morning bingeing Masterchef and soaking up every detail he can memorize. Always salt the boiling water before cooking pasta; add acid to bring out the flavours of your food; season, season, _season!_ Instant coffee powder accentuates the subtleties of chocolate; toast the spices to release their full potential! Adrien writes it all down and figures that it can’t be _that_ hard to break down a whole chicken for roasting — the judges make it look so easy!

 _“Merde!_ I am so sick of this stupid—Plagg, _transforme-moi!”_ Adrien growls that very afternoon after mistaking the back of the chicken for the breast... **again** , _“Cataclysme!”_

(Sous Chef Maurice finds the smoking pile of chicken soot in the bin later that evening and doesn’t have the heart to ask.)

~

There are two weeks left until the beginning of his school’s winter holidays and Adrien is bound and determined to host an evening that Ladybug will never forget. Anaïs gives Chat Noir permission to use one of the transparent bubble tents on his restaurant’s rooftop patio as a favour after de-akumatizing him back in September; _Le Cochon Joufflu_ gives him a live edge cheese board to use in exchange for getting his beloved kitten down from the chestnut tree hanging over the patio. Ladybug mentions that she loves strawberries the most out of all of the fruits and Chat makes sure to stop by the _Dupain Cheng Boulangerie Patisserie_ to order a Frasier for pickup in two weeks time.

It’s all coming together...kind of.

The cooking bit is still an issue. Adrien has figured out the difference between the top and the bottom of the chicken (after an embarrassingly long time, though he’ll never admit it). Yesterday, Sous Chef Maurice taught him how to put the mirepoix on the bottom of the roasting pan first, then settle the chicken on top. 

Seems simple, right?

Except how much of what goes into the mirepoix? What’s the ratio again? Adrien pinches the bridge of his nose and tries desperately to remember on his own, especially after Sous Chef Maurice nagged him for looking things up too often on the iPad. Cooking is supposed to be about instincts and...well, Adrien’s aren’t proving to be very reliable. Is it two parts celery to one part onion and carrot? Or does he have it all mixed up again?

“I have a secret to share with you,” Sous Chef Maurice says, standing alongside Adrien as they peel potatoes together. “It’s the secret ingredient to make a woman fall in love with you, even when you’ve made a mistake...what do you think it is?”

“Is it...love? Like, when you’re cooking from your heart?”

“That helps, certainly, but it’s not what I had in mind,” Sous Chef Maurice reaches into the wash basket for another potato, “Let me give you a hint. It’s as quintessentially French as it gets.”

“...camembert?”

“I—” Sous Chef Maurice takes a weary breath. “...no. It’s butter. All French cooking tastes better with butter. In fact, no meal is complete without it.”

“Don’t tell Father that,” Adrien says with a grimace.

“What Monsieur Agreste doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Sous Chef Maurice raises his brows conspiratorially. “Besides, it makes a world of difference. It’s delicious. It’s decadent. It’s a chef’s little secret. And if you want this girl to fall in love with you, there’s no better way than with butter.”

“Really? She’ll fall in love with me right away?”

“I promise. It’s one hundred percent guaranteed.” Sous Chef Maurice plops a package of Charentes-style butter in front of him. “No woman can resist a homemade meal made with French butter. Just a little makes a world of difference to the richness of the taste and tonight, I’m going to show you how.”

To Adrien’s unlimited delight, Sous Chef Maurice teaches him how to make the creamiest, silkiest mashed potatoes to ever grace his palette. His knees weaken at the thought of Ladybug sliding a spoonful of his mashed potatoes past her lips...he can imagine the way she’d groan just like he had when Adrien had finished whipping what felt like an entire block of butter into the spuds. His body burns and tingles with the notion of her enjoying his creations and he doubles down in the kitchen, taking it upon himself to slather the skin of his chicken with an obscene amount of butter before popping it into the oven and hoping for the best.

It comes out _perfectly_.

~

“Happy early Christmas!” Chat Noir delights, opening the little door to their plastic bubble tent for Ladybug. “I know we promised to exchange gifts on the 23rd but I...I just really couldn’t wait any longer!”

“Why am I not surprised, Kitty?” Ladybug rolls her eyes and bops him on the nose. “Did Anaïs give you permission to use this?”

“Of course he did,” Chat responds, pressing his hand to his chest in mock-insult, “I am a cat of honour! I don’t just go stealing things without permission.” 

“Mmhmm,” Ladybug teases him, tapping his bell as she climbs inside. The supporting structure of the transparent dome is decked out with sparkling fairy lights, adding a warm ambiance to the table and chairs set for two. “Is that a bottle of wine?”

“Yup,” Chat confirms, latching the door behind him and scurrying around her to pop the cork. “It’s a 2001 vintage. I picked it myself.”

“Fancy!” Ladybug’s smirking tone falters for a moment as she takes in the elaborate spread. “Did you...is Anaïs picking up the tab for dinner too?”

“Not exactly.” Chat pulls Ladybug’s chair out from the lip of the table and gently drapes her serviette across her lap once she sits down. “I made you dinner tonight.”

“Uh oh.” Ladybug starts laughing. “Is there an ambulance parked outside?”

Chat sticks out his tongue and sits down across from her. “I took lessons! And I had a little help from a professional.”

“So it’s safe to eat? Should I call the hospital just in case?”

“Very funny. And no. Everything here is edible. I know because I tried it.”

“Just because it’s good enough for an alley cat—”

“—hey now, I have a very sophisti _cat_ -ed palette!”

Ladybug’s eyes sparkle with mirth. “Come on then, Kitty. Show me what you’ve got.”

“As you wish, M’Lady.” Chat bows his head and pulls the aluminium foil off of the dishes with a flourish. “May I present to you your dinner this evening. It’s roasted chicken with mashed potatoes and a frisée and endive salad.”

Ladybug’s eyes bug out of her skull, much to Chat Noir’s delight. “You made all this yourself?”

“I did!”

“And you made this...for me?”

Chat practically preens with delight. “It’s all homemade. I’ve been practicing for weeks.”

“Wow…” Ladybug trails off, her stare bouncing from dish to dish. “I’m...I’m speechless, Chat. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” Chat whoops, jumping up to serve her. He carefully places a chicken thigh onto her plate and scoops a dollop of mashed potatoes beside it. “These are the best mashed potatoes you’ll ever eat, by the way.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Ladybug responds, her voice wavering a little as he spoons out the salad. “They smell good though.”

“That’s because they _are_ good!”

“...I’m still skeptical.”

“ _Buuuug!_ ”

The conversation between them flows like the wine from their bottle, leaving them both a little lightheaded and enchanted by it all. It’s warm in their garden igloo, an Eden of good company and beating hearts cocooned against the December chill and the gently falling snow cascading from the heavens. Chat wishes he could spend the rest of his life like this, laughing and joking with Ladybug over a homemade Christmas dinner made just for the two of them.

“Well?” Chat asks as Ladybug takes a dainty bite of his roast chicken. “What do you think?”

“It’s...it’s actually pretty good.” Ladybug chews thoughtfully, her cheeks flushing pink.

“Yes!” Chat narrowly keeps himself from pumping his fists into the sky. “Try the potatoes!”

Ladybug leans forwards to dip the tines of her fork into the exquisitely satiny spuds and Chat holds his breath as she brings them to her lips. 

This is the moment she’s going to fall in love with him!

_thump thump_

Tentatively, Ladybug opens her mouth.

_thump thump_

She slips the fork between her lips.

_thump thump_

Chat can hardly breathe as her eyes flutter closed. 

“Oh wow.” Ladybug moans, driving her fork into the potatoes and shoveling an enormous helping into her mouth. “ _Thish ish so goo!_ ”

Chat truly can’t help himself and starts giggling with glee, every nerve ending in his body firing as his heart nearly bursts in his chest. “I knew you’d like them!”

“I love them,” she gushes around another mouthful. “You _have_ to teach me how to make them.”

“Or I could just make them for you again.” Chat grips the edge of the table so firmly that the wood creaks beneath his fingers. “You know, next time I make you dinner.”

To his absolute elated delight, she doesn’t even sass him. “Deal. But bring your own bowl next time, this one’s all mine.”

Their Christmas dinner lasts long into the evening, their teasing and laughing comments as breezy as the winds coming off the Seine. It’s safe here, just the two of them together, tucked away from prying eyes and miscreant moths looking for trouble. Through it all, she talks and tastes and laughs like an indefatigable hybrid of Brigitte Bardot and Aphrodite. There’s no doubt she looks at him differently now, the stars reflecting in her eyes no longer just the reflection of the fairy lights in their snowy igloo. His heart beats a thousand times a minute as she snags him by the wrist while he tidies their empty plates, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“Dinner was amazing,” Ladybug says, still seated beneath him. “I can’t believe you made this all yourself.”

“Anything for you, M’Lady,” Chat breathes, his voice shaking from the heat of her touch.

“I’m not sure how to thank you.” Her eyes trail away for a moment and glance outside at the falling snow pooling around their dome. “Actually, I think I do.”

With a small, tentative smile, Ladybug tugs him down to her level and ruffles his hair when his jaw drops open at the sudden proximity. He’s helpless when she gets into his space and she knows it; it’s why she’s always got the upper hand whenever they’re together. He turns to jelly as her expression turns mischievous — he knows she’s up to something, but what? What could she possibly be thinking? Chat glances down at her lips before catching himself, dragging his eyes back up to meet hers once again.

“L-Ladybug?” Chat’s voice cracks, pitching up into the stratosphere. She giggles and he feels like dying and flying all at once.

“I think you deserve a well done kiss after all that hard work.” Ladybug tips her head to the side and grins as he begins to stammer and splutter all over himself. “But where? On your cheek? On your forehead?”

Gently, she wraps her fingers around his bell and steadies him, fully aware that he might just come crashing down on top of her. She hovers a hair’s breadth away and hesitates only for a moment before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

It only lasts for a fleeting moment but Chat swears the world grinds to a halt on its axis, stealing the ground from his feet and the air in his lungs. She _kissed_ him. She kissed _him!_ She honest-to-goodness kissed him — by her own volition! On the lips! She kissed him on the lips with her mouth! Her lips touched his lips! They kissed! They kissed!! They kissed!!!

“Not that your reaction isn’t sweet enough,” Ladybug teases, bopping him on the nose to shake him out of his reverie, “But what’s for dessert, Kitty Cat?”

Chat Noir may be Paris’ number one cat hero, but tonight he’s nothing but a puddle in the wake of her smile. “One Christmas Frasier, coming right up!”

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone! Leave a comment if you enjoyed!


End file.
